


The House that Jack Built

by marxist_monke



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hades is not a good dad and Zagrues shouldn't have to make up with him, M/M, Pining, badly negotiated relationships, but epilogue divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marxist_monke/pseuds/marxist_monke
Summary: He was always going to escape, even if he can't leave Hades.Maybe he's the god of giving the Fates the finger?
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Eurydice/Orpheus (Hades Video Game), Megaera/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 216





	The House that Jack Built

The house that Jack Built

This is the house that Jack built.

It starts with him lying on his back in the pool of the river Styx within the house. Floating in the blood, adrift in the viscous, clinging liquid. He had succeeded. He had succeeded for what must be the at least the hundredth time; racing his way through the caverns of the underworld and clawing his way to the surface to face down with his father in a death match that parallels the original war with the titans. And standing on the surface, in the snow, victorious, he had gasped a few painful breaths and then died. The emptiness twists his stomach into knots. 

“Hey it says natural causes again! Good job!” Hypnos’ voice is like an alarm bell, calling him from stupor. Zagreus rolls his shoulders. Stretches his hands. Feels the dirt beneath his nails. 

In the depth of the house of Hades, in the pit of Tartarus, an idea takes root.

     This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

He tells his son this is pointless. He tells the boy that it will never happen again, that the route he’s taken will be sealed shut, the shades that aided him punished, the gods that favor him will lose interest, the weapons in the courtyard sealed away. 

Behind him, Zagreus is silent. 

Hades clears his throat, and takes a heavy step in the snow, making sure to crunch down heavily. 

“And I’ll be replacing the damnable dog. He’s clearly become ineffective in his duties. I’d have him chained up in Tartarus, if your mother wasn’t so fond of the cur.” This is sure to get a reaction. 

Zagreus doesn’t respond. There’s only a distracted mutter and the sounds of shuffling about as if the fool child has dropped something in the snow. Annoyed, Lord Hades turns to face him. 

Zagreus is on his hands and knees, using the mighty Varatha, the Eternal Spear, to dig through the snow and uproot the earth around him. 

“What are you  _ doing _ boy?” Hades roars. Zagreus blinks, almost as if he’s surprised to see him there. 

“Can I have just another moment, Father? Would you like to wax poetic about the horrible sunlit? Or maybe the terrible cold?” As he speaks, Zagreus stuffs the earth he’s upturned in a small sack, the sigil of Hermes emblazoned upon it. Coins litter the ground near his feet. 

“I asked you a question, impudent child!” In his rage, Hades burns the cape from his shoulders. Zagreus sighs, lumbers to his feet, and hefts the spear. 

***

“Mushrooms I suppose.” He’d asked her the oddest of questions. Usually when he comes to find her in the Great Hall, Zagreus asks for stories of Olympus, or of Greece. Persephone had once spent several hours with him lounging on a couch (a rare moment, he is almost never still) describing birds for him. 

“Dracanea too, though it will need a good deal of water. Calathea, though they’re a bit boring to look at. Oh! Bromelaids of course, those are actually rather pretty.”

Her son shifts from foot to foot, his handsome face earnest and attentive. Persephone wonders if Hades has belabored him for scorching the floors, or if this habit is just another part of his constant restlessness. 

“My dear, if you’re worried about my garden down here, there’s no need! Truly, green things grow where I will them to. I’m already planning on some lilacs in the courtyard and I’ve told your father that there will be pomegranate trees in the Great Hall entrance whether it pleases him or not.”

But her son shakes his head, seemingly distracted. 

“Thank you mother, but no. I’m certain you have the matter well at hand. I was just curious as to what plants could subsist without sunlight.” She smiles at her son. He is still so new to her in so many ways. Fleet-footed Zagreus, seemingly inheriting nothing from her but a single green eye. 

Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, the woman who turned her back on Olympus and the terrifying Demeter, does not yet feel quite brave enough to kiss her son on the cheek, but she does pluck up the courage to reach out and gently grasp his hand in hers. His warm fingers squeeze back. 

“Well, let me know if you have any other questions, dear one. We have far too much catching up to do.” 

“Of course mother. I’ll make sure to drop by later. There’s a path in Asphodel I mean to test that could be a shortcut of sorts.”

Despite his efforts, Zagreus burns three footprints into the flagstones.

This is the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Eurydice has gotten used to his interruptions. They’re hardly unwanted at this point. Prince Zagreus is always terribly polite, unlike the other gods or immortal beings that come traipsing through Asphodel. 

The boy needs to learn to knock though. If Orpheus were still amongst the living, his face would be bright red. 

“Oh gods! Apologies, Mistress!” Eurydice doubles over laughing as Zagreus practically trips over his own feet to get out the door. He dashes through the wall instead, crisping the plaster in his haste. After a moment of Orpheus’ frenetic shuffling and robes being thrown on, Eurydice calls out to him. 

“C’mon in your royal highness. We can work on our latest duet a bit later.” A beat. Then.

“I really am terribly sorry, it's just that the door is around the other side, facing out to the Phlegethon, and I heard your usual singing so I assumed-”

“Enough hon. Not like Orpheus here can die of embarrassment.” Her beloved husband buries his face in her pillows. Eurydice grins, wickedly. He may have been a mortal man, but sex and sensuality were never a private thing amongst the nymphs. And this could make a great song.  _ Fleet little prince, be ware where ye wander, for ye wonder where I place my wedding bed _ … it’ll be a good one, with dirty lyrics. There’s even a melody she can already match to it, though it will be nice to have Orpheus compose the chorus. Give him something to do while he’s sitting in that great big hall of Lord Hades’.

“Ah. Hmmm. Yes then.” Zagreus opens the sack he’s carrying- a sack, that’s new- and fishes out a bottle of nectar. 

“I hope I’m not being too presumptuous, but I was hoping to bribe you in exchange for information, oh fairest amongst the nymphs, and finest of songstresses from Mount Olympus to the depths of Tartarus.” 

Nectar. This will make their very delayed honeymoon all the better. 

“Oh hon, flattery will get you everywhere. Ask away.” 

Zagreus settles on the floor and fetches a stylus and wax tablet from his satchel.

Oh bless this precious child, he’s going to take notes like a schoolboy. This is going in the song. 

“Has Asphodel been like this as long as you can remember, Mistress? When I read of Asphodel in the House library, it was said to be unending, if plain, meadows where the simpler folk who’d lived normal lives could while away the afterlife. But instead, I find a domain as wretched as Tartarus. The Phlegethon is as described though.”

She appraises him. It’s an interesting question. Not exactly in line with what his duties are, but she can see him taking a broad approach to this whole ‘security testing’ job. 

“No, actually. Before your mom split, it used to be a bit more pleasant. Always rather barren, but there was a kind of lichen that looked a lot like grass, and the Plegethon stayed in its banks rather than melt everything around it. I think it might be a remnant of your father throwing a bit of a fit.” 

“Eurydice, I really don’t know if it’s wise to speak that way of the Lord Hades. I do wish to continue to visit you here. Please, Prince Zagreus, I am most grateful to your Lord Father for his lenience in giving me time to myself.”

Ah. Orpheus had found his voice. Less talking and more singing would be preferred if he were going to simper. 

“It’s quite alright old friend.” Zagreus is either very gracious or less loyal to his father than he plays at with the Olympians. Eurydice knows it runs against gambling rules, but she’d bet on both. 

“So, the pomegranates? Are the ones you have leftover from before the Phlegethon over ran its banks or do they grow somewhere here?”

Landscaping questions. He is a mystery, this princeling. She’d heard a rumor that there was some mortal blood in him. 

“Oh they grow here, just not as much as they used to. There are a few trees scattered around Asphodel, probably more in Elysium. I’m hoping I see some more of them grow now that her royal highness is back. We used to get flowers down here occasionally, but they’ve all burnt away.”

Zagreus nods and takes dutiful notes. 

“One more question then, before I take my leave. Actually, more of a request for a favor really.”

He is the kindest god she’s ever met, but he’s still a god. She chooses her words with a bit of care. 

“Sure hon, ask away.”

“Could I store this sack of dirt, and a few other things here? It’s just when the Styx takes me, it washes away the coinage I carry and pretty much anything that isn’t seemingly bound to my soul, and I don’t think dirt counts. And it’s taken a fair bit of effort to get all this dirt.”

Eurydice blinks and takes the sack from him. It has been a very long time since she’s felt it, but the dirt practically hums with the feel of pine needles and half-rotted olive tree leaves. In other words, it feels like life. She desperately wants to know what he’s doing with it, but… safer not to, if one of the Furies comes poking around. She can say it was a gift. Makes sense for a tree nymph to want dirt, after all. 

“Not a problem. If you want to drop by with more dirt, you just knock on the door.” 

Orpheus groans in humiliation again, Eurydice writes another verse. 

This is the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Zag is standing in front of the glass cabinet, considering the many favors. Almost reverently he lays the butterfly pin down on the shelf. There’s a long pause before he takes up Demeter’s frozen horn. 

“You know I ought to be insulted by that.” Thanatos doesn't get the small joy of watching Zagreus startle. Maybe he’s too deep in thought to really process surprise or- as Thanatos expects- hundreds of marathons through the underworld have made Zagreus very difficult to get the drop on. 

“Oh don’t be put out, Than. You’ll always be my favorite.” If he were anyone else, Thanatos would accuse Zagreus of flirting. The smile is open and honest though. There might be an impish glint in that red eye of his, but it’s hard to tell, taken to shadow as it is. It's strange that, no matter how the light seems to cast itself about the room, Zagreus’ right side is always shrouded. 

“Demeter though?” Thanatos asks. He’s not hurt. Zagreus is simply being thorough in his duties. He should test all the keepsakes, if he’s to find all the security gaps. 

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with Grandmother dearest. I’d hate her to think I didn’t appreciate her gifts, you’ve seen how vindictive she can get.”

Zagreus fits the grim facsimile of a horn of plenty into his belt. 

“Would hate for her to decide on another few decades of winter in the mortal realm all because her precious grandson hasn’t been keen enough on visiting her. While I do love the idea of keeping father busy, I’d rather not punish the mortals and overwork you all because I’ve preferred to wear your favor.”

Thanatos doesn’t know what to say to that. It's tender, sardonic, and honest all at once, in a way that’s only Zagreus. He opts for silence.

“Don’t worry. It’s just for this jaunt up. Then this” Zagreus points to the butterfly “will go right back where it belongs.” The prince gestures casually to the place on his breast where the pin would usually rest. It’s right over his heart. 

Thanatos hatest goodbyes. He retreats instead, a flash of green light.

***

Dusa is not hiding. She’s just arranged herself out of the way, as Lord Hades rages, thundering his footsteps through the great hall in a way that he’d hate to hear is very reminiscent of his brother. 

“I will have the lot of them cast into Tartarus and flayed for this.” The king of the underworld is practically growling. The shades have pressed themselves against the sides of the hall, quivering. Cerberus has slunk low, hiding two of his three heads under his bed. The only one who seems unperturbed is Persephone. 

She crosses her arms and leans heavily on one hip. Actually, she looks rather annoyed. 

“Would you stop stomping about? You put the rights to the records room on the list of items the contractor could administer to him. You gave no instructions to keep him out of the records room. He’s even done similarly before, with Orpheus and Achilles. This shouldn’t exactly be a surprise.”

“I did not expect this level of transgression! This is… practically treason!” The king booms. Dusa pulls herself deeper into the curtain. She sends a brief prayer to Eleos, goddess of mercy, on the house contractor’s behalf. The shade and its helpers are being threatened with that massive fork of the Lord’s. 

“He is wonderful at many things, but obedience is not one of them, dearest. Besides, maybe he felt Sisyphus’ sentence was well served.”

“Well served?! The wretched knave trapped Thanatos-”

Persephone does the unthinkable. She interrupts the king of the Underworld and eponymous Lord Hades mid-sentence and mid wrath with a single small up-held hand. Dusa marvels. 

“Well, you can take it up with him then, rather than the poor contractor or shades of the record room. I’m sure he also has his share of frustrations with you, and it’s been long enough that he’s probably halfway through Elysium by now.” Hades stops mid-stride, staring at her. Persephone meets his gaze levelly. Then, as if to rub it in. 

“Go on then. T’wouldn’t be custom not to meet him at the entrance to the temple of Styx.”

Dusa can’t bear to look. 

The ground shakes as Lord Hades treads past her, to the Erebus gate in the records room. Persephone snorts, and then tuts softly at the broken vases and shattered mirror. 

“Dusa, my dear? Are you back there?”

The little gorgon peers out from her hiding spot. 

“Y-yes M-m-mistress?”

“No need to be scared. Could you get me a dustpan though? I fear we’ve got a bit of a mess to clean up, and I’d like to get all the nice Minoan pieces out of the main hall before Hades comes back. I think he’ll be in a snit for quite a while.” 

Dusa rushes to obey. Whatever being can stand up to Hades in a wrath like that is, truly, no force to be trifled with. 

This is the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

“Whatcha got in the bag there, red blood?” Alecto clicks her teeth together impatiently. She wants, desperately, to crack her whip against his stupid smug face but this is new. She’s never seen him hauling around a sack before, and… is that a shovel? Is he going to fight her with a shovel?

“Oh well, I’m delighted you’d ask. A few presents from my grandmother, but, most importantly, I’ve got nectar. Can I bribe you to let me pass with a bit of nectar? I’m in the middle of a project and I’d rather just head on up to Asphodel if you don’t mind.”

If he meant to piss her off with his flippancy it worked. Alecto lunges forwards. 

Turns out Zagreus hadn’t meant to fight her with a shovel. Of all the weapons he wields, she fucking  _ hates _ that stupid shield. 

***

Patroclus is working on a sketch of the Lethe when Zagreus comes stumbling into his chamber. The lad looks surprisingly roughed up. He’s actually rather used to the young prince sauntering into this particular corridor of Elysium with nary a scratch at this point. 

“Asterius.” Zagreus says by way of explanation when Patroclus raises an eyebrow. It’s not a good explanation. The last three times he’d met the minotaur in battle, Patroclus knows he’d bested the bull easily. 

“I take it you’ll be wanting the Styx’s waters then?” 

Zagreus nods, and flops down in front of Patroclus, drinking deeply. It's then that the warrior notices the sheaf of parchments stuffed into Zagreus’ belt. A charcoal pencil peaks out from behind his laurels. 

“So in life, you were a soldier yes? And you crossed a great sea to get to the Trojan war, right?” 

Patroclus is patient. Very patient. Far more patient than the immortals that come sprinting through Elysium, or the heroes intent on reliving their glory days dancing about each other. He also has no use for playing games. 

“Prince. Zagreus. I know you brought my Achilles back to me.” Patroclus levels an even, unjudging stare at him. For a moment Zagreus can’t meet his eyes. Then the prince looks up. Red and green, a thousand deaths have not yet taken the kindness from them. For a split second Patroclus is nearly choked with his hatred for the Olympians who treat Zagreus’ unending quest like a game. It's the same bitter bile that clawed up his throat in life, at the way the gods played favorites during the Trojan war. Never has he known a god so mortal as Zagreus. He is better for it. 

“I know you’ve been asking strange questions. I know from the shades and the gossip you seem distracted lately. Whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish, whatever trouble you’re stirring up, I’ll aid you. You have my” he grins wryly “undying support. No need to be coy, I’ll ask no questions.”

The princes of Hades gives a long sigh. The tense set of his shoulders slacken. He looks so weary, his whole being drooping. Patroclus can’t be certain how time passes in the realm of the dead, but the lad is still… so young. Too young to be the veteran of this many battles. No one should have to be trapped in a cycle like this, forever dying, unable to rest. Even Prometheus was freed eventually. 

Then Zagreus sits up straight. He looks focused, perhaps for the first time in a long time.

“I need to learn how to make maps. And building plans. Architecture. And I’ll need some supplies.”

Patroclus nearly laughs at that. The prince who gave him back joy for eternity asks for so little. 

“Come with me, young man. I’m going to introduce you to Odysseus.”

This is the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Orpheus finds him in Asphodel. 

He honestly hadn’t meant to find the prince. He’s been on his way to Eurydice, escorted most of the way by Charon and making the last leg of the journey on foot. For a moment, he’s tempted to keep walking and pretend he hadn’t seen the prince. That way, if Lord Hades or the Queen asks him if he’s spoken with the prince lately he can honestly say no. The problem is, that they may specifically ask if he’s  _ seen _ the prince lately.

He owes Zagreus far more than that. Let them cut his tongue out and cover his hands in lead so that he may never make music again. He owes Zagreus everything. 

“Hello your majesty. You look rather muddy.” 

Zagreus is not as fast as Hermes, but he is a close second. Coronacht is aimed at the musician’s head, and there is a pause where he feels like a hunted deer. The awkward boy that he once knew is gone. Zagreus is a warrior now, on par with Heracles, Achilles, or any of the other greats. Orpheus thinks he should compose a song for him. 

“Ah. Orpheus. It’s just you.” The bow is cast aside, and Zagreus picks his shovel back up. He’s digging a pit. Or maybe not. It’s shallow for a pit. And wide. 

“Laying traps for foul shades of the underworld, prince? Or traps for mendicant lyricists?”

Zagreus shakes his head. 

“It’s better if I don’t tell you. Though you’ll know soon enough.”

“I’d keep a secret for you, prince. No matter what pit of Tartarus I’m threatened with. Though I’m surprised to find you here. You’ve been missing from the House for… well I can't quite track time here, but your Lord father and Lady mother are both asking after you.”

“Thank you for the update, Orpheus. I’m sure Father is most displeased.” Zagreus straightens his back and steps out of the knee-deep hole. He walks over to an upturned and halved plinth, that seems to be serving as a kind of table. On it lie several tools that Orpheus would only be able to say are somewhat mathematical in nature, as well as a few drawings. 

“Tell Eurydice I’ll be by to pick up that dirt soon, alright?”

On his way to her, Orpheus makes certain to tell every shade he sees that poor Prince Zagreus has been having a hell of a time in a long, drawn-out battle against this particular iteration of the Lernean Hydra. He can do so little, but if he can buy Zagreus time for… whatever he’s planning, he’ll do it. 

***

“I give him permission to attempt to flee, nay lay it upon him as his duty. And the minute he is given any responsibility of a kind that he was fortunate enough to pick out for himself, he abdicates.” Nyx blinks impassively and the Lord of the Underworld. He has never understood his son. He has never taken the time to. 

“Is he at least safe, wherever he is?” She has more compassion for Persephone. It's not her fault that she barely knows her boy. That chance was taken from her. 

“The child has not passed from the realms of the dead. Nor has he perished somewhere. To the best of my knowledge, he is safe, Lady Persephone.” They cannot make her answer, but she’s always liked Persephone. The House is better for her. Hades is better for her. 

“And where is he?” Hades does not yell at her. They are a match, and for all his wrath he respects her. 

“Still within the realms of the dead. Forgive me, I will say no more.” 

This is the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

After a millennium spent pushing a boulder up a hill, the freedom to wander as he pleases is truly baffling. Sisyphus stretches his legs, unaccustomed to the speed he can walk at, unshackled. 

Still, he’s cautious. Yes, he’s free to wander Asphodel by the laws of the underworld, but he hates to think what kind of loophole the King of the dead will think up. So he wanders carefully. 

The carefully is probably why he sees the small patch of brownish green on the ground. Sisyphus picks it up. It’s a leaf. A small, sickly leaf, but a leaf. 

He wanders further in that direction, aimlessly but scanning the horizon. He’d been a plotter and schemer in life. Prince Zed had had a scheming look about him the last time Sisyphus had seen him, and he still hasn’t thanked the young man for his freedom. 

If he were still alive, he’d call the time frame somewhere between several days and a fortnight, but time doesn’t exactly work like that down here. There is only now, then, and ‘in the future’. As such, eventually, he spots prince Zagreus deep within a hidden corner of Asphodel. 

“Ah prince Zed! I hoped I’d run into you!” 

Zagreus is stripped of his skulls and the red over tunic has been left off. He’s also covered head to two in muck and dirt. 

“Sisyphus? How fairs it? Enjoying the time apart from bouldy?” Zagreus is currently struggling to balance a wooden beam in the earth while another leans precariously. Sisyphus steps forward and steadies it. 

“I must say that I shall have to stop by and visit my friend, but for now a bit of a walkabout is in order. What are you about, prince Zed?”

Zagreus regards him for a time, brows furrowed. The look of a schemer. Sisyphus gives him the same guileless smile he’s seen the prince use himself. Zagreus breaks first. 

“Well I suppose there’s no harm in telling you since we’re both not exactly persona grata with my father. I’m building a home.”

“A home? What about that fancy house down in Tartarus? I hear it’s rather posh.”

Zagreus shrugs. 

“It’s my father’s home. Not mine. Though I suppose I’ll visit mother, once I’m done here. But I want to get the support beams in place, and the garden sewn. I’d love to show her some flowers.”

“Well your secrets safe with me! Except…” 

Zagreus looks up, hurt. Sisyphus can’t help metaphorically tweaking his nose just a bit. 

“Except we really ought to dig the holes for these support beams a little deeper. You’ve never built a house before, but as a king, I oversaw a few construction projects in my time, and let me tell you…”

***

It’s been a race with the Furies to find the wayward prince. Not openly of course, as they’ve been tasked with it and Thanatos knows its not his place. But quietly. When no one is looking. But Zagreus is hidden well. They’re lucky he didn’t think to run away like this the first time. Not forward and upward, but slipping somewhere sideways in the lands of the dead. He probably knows the lands better than anyone save Nyx now. 

He probably would never have found him, if not for Skelly. 

“He left a note for ya. Said to say he’s sorry about not saying goodbye the last time, and he’s doing it proper like this time around.” 

Skelly hands him a half torn piece of parchment. In Zagreus’ hasty, spidery scrawl, it reads

_ I’m in Asphodel. Eurydice knows exactly where if you’d like to come and visit. I’m not running where you can’t find me this time.  _

It’s not signed with his name, just an impudent sketch of numbskull winking at him. 

“Thank you, Skelly.” Than rips the note into tiny pieces. He’ll keep the trust. 

“He’s got one for that Fury girl too if you want to pass it on, though I think it’s a bit less friendly. Rather not be hanging around when she gets it if you get my drift.”

Than smiles and shakes his head no. If Zagreus had left a note for Megeara with this servant, Thanatos is not going to interfere with his plans.

Even with Eurydice’s help, it takes some doing to find him. Zagreus is well tucked away, in a canyon that’s overshadowed by the Lernean Hydra’s pit and far enough from the Phlegethon that Charon’s boat would never make it here. 

The first thing he notices is the house. It’s new and fresh- the walls made of stone that’s been hewn from the ground in Tartarus. The pillars don’t match- some are from Asphodel, and there’s a plinth that looks like it was stolen from Elysium. Pomegranate saplings are growing in pots near the entrance, and a vine of some kind is taking slow root over the doorway. The sturdy construction and mismatched decor… it’s all very Zagreus. 

The prince is fast asleep in a hammock of woven vines. An open scroll rests on his chest. At his feet, a white rat is nibbling on a scrap of meat. The ugly little thing has a collar on. 

For Zues’ sake. 

“Zagreus.”

The prince cracks one eye-his green eye- open. He smiles lazily at Thanatos. 

“Hey Than. Took you long enough.”

With a fluid motion, Zagreus rolls out of the hammock and on to his feet. He’s a bit grimy looking- there’s mud on his hands and in his hair, smearing across his nose. He’s abandoned the underworld regalia entirely, lounging around in a pair of loose brown leggings and some rough cloth chiton. The only thing left to denote his royalty iare the laurels, sitting crookedly about his brow. 

Zagreus crowds him. Comes too close, as if to press in for a hug before Thanatos steps back and away. Zagreus lets him but keeps an arm extended. When Thanatos fails to even reciprocate that gesture of friendship, the prince graciously lets the hand fall, then turns to scrounge around at his feet for an amphora. 

“Pomegranate wine? It’s no competition with nectar. Actually, Sapho tells me it’s not even good enough to be called wine, but it’s this or whatever passes for liquid from the Phlegethon.”

“Sapho?” Thanatos asks before he can really help himself. He hadn’t meant to become this involved. He’d only meant to stop by and just make sure that Zagreus hadn’t fallen down a hole somewhere, trapped in the limbo of not mortal enough to die of hunger but not immortal enough to save himself. 

Zagreus nods his head to a well-defined shade. She’s a woman in her forties, fairly lovely in countenance. Ah. Thanatos frowns. 

“No.” It comes out more coldly than he’d meant. “Thank you, that is.”

“You make the right choice, my lord. I’ve told the young prince here that he should be drawn and quartered for claiming this as wine.” Sapho jots another line down on the parchment she holds and then squints out along the horizon. 

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” Thanatos tells her, and then winces at the stupidity of that statement. 

“Ah, I imagine you meet far too many mortal shades in your line of work, my lord.” The poet is gracious. 

“We met briefly when I flung myself from the Leucadian cliffs after my beloved perished. You were quite gentlemanly about the whole affair. Gave me great comfort, told me I’d see her again in the afterlife.”

Her?

“And did you?”

Sapho smiles at him. It’s a knowing smile. Thanatos is suddenly relieved that his face doesn’t show a blush. God of death and all, not really any blood to blush with. 

“Yes. She’s taken to haranguing the prince for his lack of knowledge in higher mathematics, and is currently trying to correct for that gap in his education.”

“Yes, and if you could please get her to stop  _ throwing _ the abacus at me when I make an error, I think I might learn faster.” Zagreus quips. Sapho exhales mightily. 

“Stop provoking her by getting the answers intentionally wrong then. We both know you’re smarter than that. Has he always been such a pest, my lord?”  
The question is for Thanatos. He blinks. Their lax repartee’, the ease with which they include him…

“I’ve work to attend to.” He glares at Zagreus. He didn’t come here just to have it rubbed in. That he’s happier elsewhere. That he’s happier anywhere but the House. His home. 

“As do you. You were given the task of testing the underworld’s securities. You’re lax in your duties, Zagreus.”

Zag rolls his eyes. 

“Well, I’ll get back to it as soon as I need something from the surface again. But it’s spring up there and I’m really not going to get the spores I want for the mushrooms until fall. So it’ll be a bit.”

Cold fury nips at Thanatos’ heart. Nyx had moved heaven and hell so that Zagreus could find his place in the cosmos, and here he was haphazardly abandoning it the moment something else took his fancy. How… feckless. Childish. 

“Stop being a child, Zag.” he hisses. It’s the voice he admonishes Hypnos with. 

“You have a duty. And you, unlike any of the rest of us,  _ got to pick it _ .”

Zagreus gives him a long, cool stare and then drinks deeply from the amphora. He tilts his head back, clean lines of his throat moving until the pomegranate wine is drained. Idly, he wipes his mouth on the back of a hand. He’s so casually handsome. Thanatos hates him for that a little, and for everything else, a lot. 

“Maybe I’m just sick of dying Than.” He doesn’t sound mad when he says it. Just… tired. 

He knows what the prince means. He knows that he means he’s sick of the pain and the constant struggle and the hurt, but what he hears is  _ I’m sick of you. _

“Well maybe I’m sick of you too.” He spits back. Zagreus turns, big mismatched eyes at once looking apologetic and surprised. 

“Than, wait-”

He disappears in a flash of soft green light. 

This is the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Megeara finds him eventually. It was bound to happen eventually. She is relentless, second as a huntress only to Lady Artemis and all the more enduring. Besides, his efforts to bring verdure back to the plains of Asphodel have taken root. Maybe he is more his mother’s son than he thought. 

“Hello Zagreus.” 

He’s surprised at how much he’s missed her, all of the sudden. He’d thought of Than, and Hypnos, and Achilles, and Persephone but hadn’t really thought about Meg. And yet here she is, ever pursuing and he realizes he’s missed her terribly. If anyone else understands fruitless duties and thankless labors. Difficult families and the pain and wrath of dying again and again in a useless battle. 

“Hello Meg. It’s good to see you.”

She nods to him. 

“You know why I’m here.”  He can’t lie to her. He’s never been able, she’s his first foe, they’ve been dancing together longer than anyone now. 

“Come to drag me back to the house?”

“I’ve come to take you home.” She brandishes the whip. 

“What makes you think you can? If you can’t manage it in Tartarus, with the wretches at your command and all the time in the underworld to prepare, what makes you think you can manage it here?”

She shrugs. She can’t lie to him either. 

“One of us has to climb out of the pool of Styx. I have my orders.”

Zagreus sighs, long and forlorn. 

“Drink first? And can we not do it in the garden? I’ve just got the saplings to take root.”

“I have orders to destroy the house here once you’re floating in the Styx.”

Zagreus winces at that. Of course he would. Hades is nothing if not a tyrant. 

“Well then, guess this will be your only chance to try my homemade wine.” Meg pauses, then takes the cup from him. He clinks glasses with her, and she downs the brew. 

“That’s not bad actually.”

“See? Maybe I can be the god of mediocre wine instead.” 

She raises a perfect eyebrow. 

“Dionysus.” She proffers. He grins. 

“Ah, but he’s the god of good wine.” She steps back a few feet, then drops the end of the whip to the ground. 

“Enough stalling Zagreus. You’re going home. The painful way.”

Zagreus shakes his head, no. 

“Sorry. I did try and make it as gentle as I could though.”

Megeara frowns at that. What is he going on about? And why does she feel so unsteady on her feet? 

Oh. Damn, that was actually quite clever. In all the times they’ve done this dance, he’s never quite tried that before. He can’t lie to her, but his trove of tricks is glutted.

“You know I’m going to come back for you, right?” She pitches forwards and Zagreus gently catches her, laying her head in his lap. She feels his lips on her brow, a delicate flutter. Gods, she feels like her head’s barely teetering on her neck. 

“I know. I’ve missed you a lot. I promise not to poison you next time, I want you to actually enjoy a bottle with me.”

She wakes up in the pool of the Styx and nearly throws Hypnos in when he asks about the poisoned wine. 

***

Asphodel is green. 

Well, not all of it. But it’s covered in patches now. Not a true meadow, like it once was, but creeper vines and mushrooms take root over surfaces that used to be solid rock. Bromelaides grow in the heat next to the Phlegethon. Thanatos marvels. Life in the land of the dead. Of course he had. Rule breaker. Prodigal son. 

The house that Zagreus had built looks like it belongs here now. Green ivy covers the walls. Pomegranate trees grow haphazardly. Some kind of lily grows between the paving stones that look like recent additions. The color of them- definitely lifted from Elysium. 

And all around Zagreus’ house, shades congregate, laughing, talking, learning, teaching. Lounging on the benches of reclaimed wood, Eurydice and Zagreus are watching a spirited debate on the origin of the soul between two long dead philosophers. 

“Than.” Zagreus greets him with a lazy wave and a gesture towards a seat. Thanatos stays floating ominously. The shades filter away from him. As the conversation begins to die down and an uncomfortable silence settles in its place, Zagreus stands and dusts off his leggings. Thanatos notices he’s back in the official regalia of the House, but he’s added a few touches- a green cord about the belt, some flowers tucked into his laurels. 

“Come with me?” Zagreus leads him through the courtyard, to the large wooden door. Than pauses at the threshold, then takes a seat at the creaky bench on the porch. 

Zagreus sits beside him and pours them both a cup of pomegranate wine. It smells almost like nectar. 

“Meg said you poisoned her with this.” It’s petty and silly and apparently just the right thing to say. Zagreus laughs heartily. 

“Yes, I think I got her rather good.” Zagreus drinks heavily from his glass. There’s a faint blush about his pale skin. God of blood. God of rebirth. 

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t put anything nasty in this, Eurydice thinks I finally got the process right. I’m not going to waste what she’s officially deemed ‘a passable vintage’. Besides, I don’t think you can die.”

Thanatos drinks the wine. It is good. 

“I could never get sick of you, Than.” His voice is so soft and tender. Thanatos startles, nearly spilling his wine. Damn him. For all the millennia he’s lived and all the mortal life he’s seen Zagreus catches him off guard every time. 

“I know.” Is all he can manage. ‘I’m sorry’ goes unsaid. 

“I’m not sick of the god of death. I’m sick of dying. The pain of it. The fear. Always fighting for a goal that doesn’t matter in the end. I wanted something that mattered.”

Thanatos clutches at the cup, desperate to find somewhere else to look in the face of Zagreus’ honesty. He’s impossibly handsome in the dim light.

“You have.” He finally manages to throw out, the words nearly sticking in the back of his throat. “Asphodel looks beautiful. It was never meant to punish mortals. Just give them peace.”

He finally manages to meet Zagreus’ eyes. Green and red. Verdance and blood. Life. 

“The shades look so peaceful out there.”

Zagreus smiles. Carefully, like reaching out to an easily startled animal, he reaches his hand out and catches Thanatos’ fingers in his own. 

“I’d like to kiss you now. If you’d like.”

Gods damn him. 

“Don’t you have an… arrangement with Megeara?” He has known the first of the Furies for longer than Zagreus has been alive. They’re friends. He’d like it to stay that way.

“Yes. Does that bother you?” 

Thanatos starts to pull away, then stops. He can be an adult about this. He’s the elder, after all. With a real job and responsibility. 

“I need time to think.” Zagreus nods once, then squeezes his fingers.

“Alright then. Goodbye till next time, Thanatos. Don’t be a stranger.” He leaves with the warmth of Zagreus’ hand still on his. 

This is the judge all shaven and shorn

That married the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Chaos has always been there. Chaos will always be there. 

“Prince of Hades. You come, yet I did not call you. Respond.” They say. The boy stands at ease in these halls. He seems more sure of himself than he ever had in the past. Still driven, but the anger is gone. In its place, calm determination. 

“I split open the egg you gave me. I had a hunch.” He explains. Chaos does not blink, because Chaos is not surprised. Of course. How utterly impossible. It makes perfect sense. 

“You want a boon from me, son of Hades?” They ask. Zagreus nods, then pauses. 

“Well, yes and no. I want a boon, but not for me. It’s for the shades.”

“You ask a boon for the dead.”

“What would happen if they came here? The shades, I mean.” Chaos doesn’t take a moment to think about it, because the answer to this question was always known. But it does take a moment for them to put it in words. 

“They would cease to be. Returned to primordial chaos.”

“And what would I have to trade you to keep this gate open here? So that they can come through?”

“What would you offer, Oh son of Hades?” Chaos watches as the prince takes a deep breath. Steeling himself. The boy is a source of endless amusement. 

“Anything.” 

Another long pause. Their daughter, Nyx, her face holding a small, tentative smile. 

“The thought is enough. This gate will remain open.” Zagreus lets out a long breath, and Chaos fades into themself. 

***

He is sitting shoulder to shoulder with Achilles, the grass of Elysium long between his fingers. He’d actually originally considered setting his home here, in the land of the heroes. It hadn’t seemed right here though. This was a place for people who were finished with their great works. 

“So you’re going back to the House then, lad? You’re certain of it?” Achilles looks upon him, worry creasing his brows. Patroclus picks up one of his husband’s calloused hands and kisses it soothingly. 

“Yes, sir. I need to have it out with father. And I’m overdue a visit to mother.”

Achilles throws an arm around the boy’s shoulders and messes his hair. He wishes he’d hugged him more when he was just a tiny lad, all gangly arms and big besotted eyes. But he’d been too used to training young Myrmidons who sought the approval of a commander, not a parent’s love. By the time he’d realized that the child needed a father, Zagreus had grown up and into a different kind of besotted, and he’d not wanted to confuse the poor boy. It is nice to be past all that. 

“You know, if you’re headed to visit your Tartarus, I happen to know that the lessons you had with Odysseus on cartography would have your astute eye picking up that you're headed the wrong direction.” Patroclus has a smart mouth. Zagreus tosses the handful of grass he’d been toying with at the fallen warrior. 

“Well yes, but I’m going up to get mother a present first. And I want to have my conversation with father in private.”

“Ah. Planning on grabbing a daffodil or two before you get swept up by the Styx?” Patroclus asks. He ignores the grass in his hair. 

Zagreus nods. 

“Fair warning lad- I believe Megeara is the guardian to the entrance of Elysium right now. Thesues and Asterius are holding a tournament of some kind, to test the fallen heroes of the battle of Thermopylae.” 

Zagreus shudders. He enjoys beating that smug twat into the ground, and there’s honor and nobility in his fights with Asterius. 

He doesn’t like hurting Meg. It hurts more now that he’s gotten good at it. 

This is the rooster that crowed in the morn

That woke the judge all shaven and shorn

That married the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Megeara is standing idly with her back to him, facing the entrance to Elysium from the temple of Styx. For all their back and forth, she knows he is not going to strike her from behind. 

Not for any issue of honor. She can obviously hear him coming. He knows it too.

“It’ll be odd to do this in a new setting.” He tells her instead. He’s going for flippant. She catches something else underneath. Remorse perhaps. 

“And what might we be doing?” She throws back at him. This is much better than fighting- not that she doesn't enjoy tearing pieces off of each other in their matches, but taking him by surprise in turn… this is the best kind of fun. 

“Oh, and I suppose you’re going to let me waltz on by this time?” 

She turns fully around and grins at him, sharp little cat-like teeth twinkling in Elysium’s false sunlight. 

“Why? Are you attempting to enter Elysium without permission?” A beat. Then, his eyes widen. 

“Oh. You're being clever.” Zagreus is smiling too now. A big cheeky grin. 

“I do still think that I shouldn’t let you pass completely untested Zagreus. And you owe me for that stunt with the poisoned wine.”

“However can I make it up to you?” 

She shows him exactly how.

***

When he reaches the surface there are no daffodils. A tulip is poking its way through the mud though, and Zagreus greedily scoops up the flower and deposits it into Hermes’ satchel. The coins will be taken by the river Styx, but the flower will likely remain. It’s how he got the dirt down after all, in a few hundred trips. 

“You test me at every turn boy.” Hades is, at least, unchanging. He still stands with his back to Zagreus, shoulders squared against the light rain. If asked, he’d probably complain about it being damp. Zagreus feels like the water invigorates him and he is truly consumed by the bitterness that he’ll never really get to run through a spring shower, or fall into a pile of autumn leaves. Then it passes. 

“That was the point of the original assignment, right?” Zagreus points out. He knows it’s petty, but his father has put him through hell, literally. Being occasionally bratty seems only fair. 

“And yet you abandon even that. Can you do nothing right?” Hades shoots back. Trust his father to be equally petty. 

“I’m not the god of following rules.”

That one gets to him. Ever orderly Hades  _ hates _ that. 

“Then what are you the ‘god of’ boy? What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe breaking them. To be honest; I think rebirth… Oh, to that tune, you should know I set up a chaos gate in Asphodel. Shades who wish to expire can find peace there.”

There is no sin greater. Zagreus knows that each time they fight and each time they have fought, Hades really is trying to kill him. He’s died to prove it. But this is the first time it really feels like Hades wants him to stay dead. 

Zagreus wins- the Fates decreed that this should be their lot, and so it is. He raises the Adamant Rail then pauses, before dealing the final blow. What does it matter? They’ll be dead in a few moments anyway. 

“Father. Would you care to watch a sunrise with me? I know you say they're too bright, but they're the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He thinks he might. Hades looks up at him from where the king kneels in the snow, Exagryph held loosely at the prince’s side.

He’s not surprised when Hades skewers him instead. It was only a matter of a few moments.

“Pathetic.” His father tells him. 

“Yes.” Zagrues agrees as he feels the Styx rise up to claim him. 

“It really is.”

This is the farmer sowing his corn

That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn

That woke the judge all shaven and shorn

That married the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

Persephone hugs him this time. She ignores the blood of the Styx lingering on his robes and pulls him tight against her. He’s uncertain what to do with his hands at first, and then he returns the hug, gingerly at first. But she squeezes the pain out of him like roots cracking through stone and he hugs her back fiercely. 

“Hello to you too mother.” He finally wheezes. Laughing and crying at once, she lets him go. He reaches into the pouch Lord Hermes’ gave him and fishes out the tulip, then plants it in her hair. 

“You’ve been away for so long.” She won’t let go of him, even though she’s let him out of the bone-crushing hug. Both her hands are holding his face as if she’s afraid to let go. He ducks his head, suddenly shy. 

“I was working on something important.” It’s not a great explanation, but she is ever patient. 

“It’s in Asphodel. You should come see it. If you want. When you can.”

She nods, accepting. Probably as only a mother can. 

“And your project, is it done?” He leans against her. Ye Gods is he tired again. 

“Yes and no? It’s as it should be, but it’ll probably always need protecting. It’s… I’m trying to right some wrongs in the cosmos. Some cruelties in the afterlife. I don’t know if I’ve succeeded, or made a mess of it all. I’ll find out I suppose.”

“I’ll come see it.” She promises. 

“You’ll need directions, I’ve hidden it well away-” He begins. She laughs. 

“No garden is hidden from me, my dear.”

Oh. Well, he should have known. Goddess of growth and all. She’d probably known from when he planted the first sprout, if not from when the idea had taken hold. Wise woman. 

“You’ve found a place for yourself. I’m proud of you Zagreus.”

She hugs him for a long, long while. 

***

When he trudges back to his little cottage, tired, sore, emotionally wrung out and still feeling awful for having to snap Meg’s neck on the way out of Tartarus, Thanatos is sitting on his porch waiting for him. He doesn’t say anything.

“I took some time to think.” Than says softly. Zagreus unstraps Stygius from his hip and lets the sword fall on the granite with a clatter. He wants to be done with swords for a while. Maybe learn to play the lyre. 

“Whatever your answer, I’ll always care for you Than. If you don’t feel the same way about me...” Zagreus reassures him. “I don’t mean to push you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Zagreus.” Thanatos’ voice is barely a whisper. His kiss is even lighter. It is nothing like kissing Meg.

“Come inside.” Zagreus offers, taking him by the hand. “Come see my home.”

This is the horse and the hound and the horn

That belonged to the farmer sowing his corn

That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn

That woke the judge all shaven and shorn

That married the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog that worried the cat

That killed the rat that ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, its been a very long time since I've written fiction and even longer since I've shared it. Honestly, this is way more fulfilling than I remember even if I am a hack of an author and my prose is drier than dehydrated acai berries. I almost didn't put this up out of self conscious shame for how bad my fiction attempts are, but ego won the battle over anxiety by a narrow margin!


End file.
